


As the Petals Fall

by Fantasyne_Stories



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Past Abuse, Scars, Slow Burn, Suffering, Vampires, angst with happy ending, mild suffering, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasyne_Stories/pseuds/Fantasyne_Stories
Summary: London’s been wandering for- golly, had it really been 400 years already? In that time, human bonds had been nothing but a distant desire- something best left to other people. There’s no reason to force ties that will be severed by the bond of time, especially when he hasn’t much to offer.However, the reawakening of huge creatures kind of throw a wrench into plans, and his ever-soft heart gets burnt up in feelings that are still vaguely familiar. Kyla is everything Azazel had been, everything that’s been absent from his life since the attack. If only she felt the same.A mix of semi-chronological drabbles, kind of just emotional dumps. Uses characters from a Dungeons and Dragons game (run by Adox, using a character by AntonSlavik020 as deuteragonist. Characters will be credited as they are used and referenced!!))
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character, Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s) & Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. Acceptance

London really wishes he’d paid attention, because the entire world had apparently lost its fucking mind.

He really, truly wishes he could say it was limited to just the beasts that had already made a violent impact on him (he’s certain he’ll be nursing bee stings for months, until he remembers he has healing spells and sheepishly casts one.) But, unfortunately, the people he’d spent so long avoiding seemed to have gone crazy long before any nightmarish swarm of stinging insects appeared. The first indication of this was the elvish woman who approached him, blinking her pupil-less eyes and flashing a bright light in his face.

He’d looked at her like she was insane, which had prompted several more panicked and confused blinding flashes until he found the words to ask just just what, exactly, she was doing.He probably shouldn’t have, thinking back on it, considering he was taken in through some sort of secret tunnel and spent the entirety of the walk convinced he’d done something to warrant being kidnapped by the government. He really has no choice but to listen to the explanation given to him at a rickety tavern table.

The woman, who introduced herself by the odd name of “Weaver,” told him of the large creatures who’d started awakening all over the world, and of the mission to keep the general public relatively calm through the use of memory-erase wands. Then he was informally inducted into the group, since the wand had no effect on him and there wasn’t much else they could do.

All this, London could accept. He could accept the over-the-top explanation, he could accept that his new boss was apparently one of these dormants, he could even accept that he and his newfound party basically destroyed an entire culture within the next 48 hours.

Well, maybe that last one wasn’t so easy to swallow. But he could at least shove the feeling to cry over it deep into his stomach, where the rest of his guilt lay. What he can do is acknowledge it as reality.

What he can’t accept, is that only one of the five remaining members of his party is sane.

Kyla Starrett is a reclusive woman, often blending into the background. She’d spoken up maybe a total of three times in the small amount of time he’d known her, and none of the comments were particularly optimistic. She’d informed a party member of the unfairness of the world- something he didn’t inherently disagree with, but something he wouldn’t have said out loud. 

Her negativity doesn’t particularly bother him, and her consistent state of sanity is well-needed after his world being shaken like a baby’s rattle for two weeks straight. So London approaches her as she’s sharpening her javelin under a tree, waiting for the carriage to be packed.

“... Hello, Kyla.” His voice sounds odd to his own ears, and it’s still shaking off decades of scratchiness. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine.” Perhaps the words would sound short to anyone else, but to London they simply sound truthful. She blows a little bit of flint off her javelin.

He pauses to see if she continues. She doesn’t.

“... I’m glad to hear it. I-If you, um, if you ever need healing, you can ask.”

Kyla’s mouth quirks slightly, and she takes her eyes away from the perfectly sharpened javelin to take in the sight of his holy symbol. “I will keep that in mind.”

Her expression seems… unimpressed. London revels in the familiar sting that brings to his heart. He’d needed something routine, and it’s almost better because it’s not a scathing remark. So he nods to her, and sits beside her to keep an eye on everyone working around the carriage. 

“... Why did you join the Knights, Kyla?”

Why’s he asking her something like that? It’d be simpler just to exist in his own space, and let her exist in hers. She takes a moment before responding, and the fact that she answers at all surprises him.

“I’d just finished with a fight. Hit a dead end.” She strikes the sharpening rock extra roughly at the javelin. “I had nothing better to do.”

“I… I see.” He’s not sure what he expected. “... Is it something I could help with?”

Of course he can’t, and he already knows this. 

“No, probably not. You don’t seem…”

She pauses for a second.

“... familiar with those sorts.”

London’s heart jumps- as much as it can anymore- and he stutters. “I-I, um- well, I-I’ve had a very sheltered upbringing, you see, as a noble my father didn’t enjoy it when I-“

“I never said that was a bad thing.” Kyla’s monotone voice interrupts his panicked over-explaining. “Most people wouldn’t be able to help me. I’d be more concerned if you _did_ know something.”

She then glances at him, and he tries not to shy away at her gaze. His hair is more akin to a bird’s nest, the light brown curls having tangled into each other due to the lack of haircuts, and the scrutinizing look continues down to his unshaven face and then to his pants, full of hastily sewn patches.

“... You should replace those,” is all she says, and he feels his full lungs release in a relieved sigh.

“... They are rather unsightly, aren’t they?” He chances a light chuckle. “I’ll see about it once we get to El Dorado.”

Kyla nods, and rises to help the party lift a particularly heavy crate into the cart. London follows shortly after, but only after glancing down at his pants for a moment.

He really should replace the worn down trousers- his mother would have a heart attack if she saw him in such uncomfortable clothing. As he soon comes to find out, Kyla isn’t often wrong. Especially when it comes to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ope had to rewrite chapter notes
> 
> I forgot what I said so uhhhhh
> 
> DnD campaign, PCs, blehblehbleh
> 
> London belongs to me  
> Kyla belongs to AntonSlavik020  
> Setting and Weaver belongs to Adox (check out their writing if u like angst and rwby))


	2. What Year Is It

_ “Azazel?” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ London’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as the man leans down, pressing a short kiss to his lips. “... Can you promise me something, my brightest star?” _

_ “A promise?” Azazel’s tone is teasing, and one of his hands- as cold as death- finds London’s jaw and tilts it up. His grin is sharp, but it fits him perfectly. As it should. Perfection fits him. “I suppose… I’ll have to hear such a request?” _

_ He giggles, rolling his eyes slightly at the over dramatic response. “... Will you stay with me? And one day take me to all of those places you’ve traveled?” _

_ “”Hmm…” Azazel’s grip tightens for a moment, and London ignores the small bite of pain. It’s worth it to feel this wanted. “... Perhaps. It’d be more fun if you earned such a thing, don’t you agree, my love?” _

_ Of course he agrees. Why wouldn’t he? _

———

“London.”

He wakes up with a slight fluttering of his eyelashes. Victoria had always teased him about having such long lashes, and had once claimed he looked more feminine than Alice did (which had prompted a silent glare from his twin.) But when he wakes up, it isn’t to her round, mischievous brown eyes.

Instead, it’s a pair of blue. Not Azazel’s blue, either- more electric than his, but just as piercing. 

“... How long have I been asleep?” He yawns, and covers his mouth with his hand for a brief moment. 

“A bit.” Kyla nods towards the city on the horizon. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Oh.” London attempts to straighten himself out. He should look at least somewhat presentable, considering how important El Dorado is as a trading center. “Right, I’m sorry.”

She neither accepts nor rejects his apology, and he scratches the messy stubble on his face. It’s a newer nervous tick he’d developed maybe 90 years ago. Back then, he’d scratch until he was bleeding- but now, he simply strikes his skin a few times before instead reaching to grip his holy symbol.

It’s a strange-looking thing. On the pitch black, almost onyx like surface, is a golden seven-pointed star. It starts glowing whenever he attempts one of his meager healing spells, and faintly burns his hand through his glove whenever he grips it.

That’s alright, though. It’s only slightly worse than the sun.

The cart rolls over the autumn leaves, and a particularly rough jolt heightens London’s need for a distraction. 

“So, um-“ he flinches as the murmur of a crowd begins to grow, forcing him to raise his already weak voice. “How, um, how old are you?”

Kyla either takes no issue with the question, or simply doesn’t let her mask of impassiveness slip. “Twenty-eight.”

He nods a little, kind of unsure of what to do with that information now. It was sort of a strange question, but before he can berate himself for it, Kyla speaks up again.

“And you? I assume it’s older than you look, considering your… condition.”

By default, London tenses his muscles. His eyes dart to her javelin, sharp and ready. He’d seen her fight, and it would take little more than a brief jab to send his body crumbling to ashes. But she’d taken the news in stride, simply stating he didn’t seem to be a danger to them, vampire or not. He’s not sure if it was exactly a compliment, but she hadn’t opted to kill him, so such a thing was honestly rather unneeded.

“I’m, um, I’m terribly sorry, and pardon the odd question, but what year is it?”

Kyla looks at him for a bit, as if searching for a clue this might be a joke, but his clearly embarrassed glance to the toes of his shoes tells her it’s not.

“It’s 2019.”

Alright, wonderful. The math is easy and he gives her her answer in two seconds. “I’m… well, 420 years old.”

He flinches a tad. He’d realized another year had passed when the leaves had taken on a golden hue, but his birthday had gone completely uncelebrated. He’s pretty sure he’d been starving in the woods the first week of June. Then again, what would he have been celebrating? Another year spent hidden away out of fear?

“I see.” Kyla makes no comment on his age. In fact, her only response seems to be glancing over his face. Mirrors don’t work for him, of course, but he figures he likely appears to be a disheveled man in his early 20’s. 

But she doesn’t ask how he’d turned. He’s glad, because he doesn’t wish to tell her. It’d best be saved for a different time, and his want and need to spill the honest details of his private life had been more than satisfied for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh forgot to mention this started as a meme campaign
> 
> So why wouldnt my old af vampire be 420 years old and also have his birthday on 6/9. Haha funneee number
> 
> Also this conversation would have happened in 2019, hence the date, I’m not dumbie (and also also, yes this campaign runs off of real world numbers. As someone who runs a campaign with its own like date system, ya it’s not easy))
> 
> London belongs to me  
> Kyla belongs to AntonSlavik020  
> Setting belongs to Adox


	3. Hell

Hell on earth.

London considers just saying goodbye to everyone right there. Things had been easier before he’d found Tamara, before he’d found the party and somehow ended up backstabbing the mafia to infiltrate their lab, and he could go back to starving in the woods. Maybe if he got lucky, he would die.

Everything was easier before he heard the name, and even now, it continues to ring off the walls over and over- it mocks him with its very presence. 

_ Azazel. Azazel. Azazel. _

———

_ “Azazel? Why are you so harsh on me?” _

_ He’d only braved the question because Azazel is across the room. A sound emits from his throat that tells London he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to have this conversation.  _

_ “Why shouldn’t I be? You have your faults. Unless this is you claiming you don’t?” _

_ “No, of… of course not, that’d be foolish.” _

_ “Because it’s so horrifically out of character for you to say anything foolish.”  _

_ London swallows the painful lump of emotion that had settled into his throat, and feels it land deep in his heart. “I’m sorry, Az…” _

_ “I know.”  _

_ Azazel’s tone is annoyed, and London knows he’s the most ungrateful man who’s ever lived. _

———

“London.”

Kyla’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he jumps slightly when she speaks up. The rest of the party had left him well enough alone, since he, in a fit of admittedly emotional ignorance, insisted there had to be a good reason his first and only love was still alive and working with the mafia. Red Wine, they’d called him, and how fitting for a man drenched in scarlet.

But he’s not the half-elf standing before him. No, instead it’s Kyla, and he finds that he can’t meet that electric blue gaze. A bit of muck on her sleeve catches his attention instead, and he makes a small sound to indicate he’d heard her. He’s not sure how to talk.

“... You should stay focused.”

Cold, but true. He wishes he could tell her he appreciates it, but he has to admit that the words do less than good for his feelings.

“I… I know.” London blinks hard, and then drags his eyes away from the spot on her arm he’d been fixated on up to the ceiling. There’s a familiar tightness in his throat, in his eyes.  _ Don’t cry. Don’t cry. _ “... I’m sorry.”

Kyla watches him struggle on the brink of tears, but either cannot or will not offer anymore support. She does make sure he stays with the group, following him with her javelin in hand. There’d been many undead (of the less… intelligent variety) on the way there, so he’s not surprised. From what he can tell, the paladin finds stability in jobs, and she considers protecting the party to be such. 

She’s smart, taking the professional, distant route to the inter-party relationships. London had stumbled, fucked up, formed attachments he shouldn’t have. That was the reason, ultimately, he’d stayed with the party despite his desire to run. 

He tosses around the idea of staying with them only until he can find Az again, and get a sliver of his old life back- the life he’d had before bleeding out on the forest floor. But, ultimately, it seems too harsh, too selfish. He’d made the choice to get attached, however subconscious that decision was, and now he must suffer the consequences.

Such a thing is easier to handle if he doesn’t look at their faces. Then he doesn’t have to live with the imagery of them crumbling to dust, their skulls deteriorating one at a time until he’s the only one left. It’s easier to pretend that doesn’t have to happen, for now. 

So London keeps his eyes decidedly and stubbornly downwards. Behind him, Kyla glares holes into the darkness ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil shorter but it was fun to write while i wait for animal crossing to download
> 
> I love me some Sad Boi (tm)
> 
> Kyla belongs to AntonSlavik020  
> Setting belongs to Adox


End file.
